


Signs of Love and Malaise

by Cryptographic_Delurk



Category: La Pucelle: Tactics
Genre: Angel Sex, Dancing, Demons, Dreams & Hallucinations, F/F, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Misogyny, Post-Canon, Religious Guilt, Sexual Assault, Undressing, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 17:37:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6817384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptographic_Delurk/pseuds/Cryptographic_Delurk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <br/>
  <i>At some point, Prier had stopped praying to anyone other than Alouette.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>An angel visits Prier. Prier interprets this as sanity slippage. She’s not wrong.<br/>Or, an alternate story of how Prier became a Demon Lord.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Signs of Love and Malaise

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the original ending to La Pucelle, so Alouette is dead for the whole thing. Also Croix/Prier is only really implied by the ending - an olive branch I’ve extended to Croix by virtue of him not being dead, and all.
> 
> I haven’t played all of La Pucelle: Ragnarok yet, so be aware that this likely steps on canon’s toes regarding Demon Lord!Prier, among other things.
> 
> Other than that, please Read & Relax!

The sermons are not only recited, they are learned. There is a precision and a method and an art to such heavily measured words – a skill that takes years to master.

And, so, they’re stuck with the old sermons until they can learn new ones.

Father Salade’s voice is sonorant and booming at the service this evening. His speech is passionate, but his frankness and humility make it easily understood by the lay people.

Prier sits on in the front row of the congregation, with the other Sisters, and doesn’t listen to a word of it. Prier never was good at paying attention during the sermons. When she was younger, she hated listening as the Father described the rules and reasons of correct conduct and behaviour. But it hadn’t stopped her from turning wide-eyed and alert, as soon as he mentioned stories of the Dark Prince, the Maiden of Light, and their eternal battle – the battle that equally marked the world’s creation, and its destruction.

Now that’s she’s older, the mythology is the part she hates most. The Dark Prince is only a lonely, heartbroken vagabond. And the Maiden of Light is dead.

Father Salade is writing new sermons – sermons that will pass on the religious significance of the battles that Prier and her brother fought as part of, and that everyone else alive lived through. He’s going to update his books, and his records, and the Orphanage’s history curriculum. He’s going to change the sermons, to include the fates of Croix and Alouette, and explain how battles may have many endings – not only victory or defeat.

But, in the meantime, the sermons, as they are, continue to provide valuable insight and moral distinction.

( _And, lo, the Goddess Poitreene sent unto the mortal realm, her avatar, the Maiden of Light, to vanquish the evil, extant in the hearts of..._ )

In the meantime, Prier can barely stand to listen.

Across the aisle, in the pew opposite from hers, she knows Culotte isn’t fairing much better. She’s seen him before, out of the corner of her eye, with his face blank and his eyes glassy as Father Salade recites on subjects they are already far too intimate with.

There’s one thing her brother does that she doesn’t though. There’s one way he gives of himself in these sermons that she doesn’t. It’s a tiny thing – a tiny thing to make a gaping chasm between believer and heretic.

Sister Olive nudges Prier sharply with her foot. She doesn’t do it rudely, or judgementally. It’s routine at this point. Prier’s eyes snap into focus, as she stands along with the rest of the congregation.

Prier clasps her hands together, as they start the prayers.

“In the name of the Goddess Poitreene…” they say.

 _In the name of Alouette,_ Prier mouths.

“In Poitreene’s name we ask…”

 _In Alouette’s name we ask,_ Prier mouths.

“For the Holy Goddess Poitreene, so that one day the world may align with her image of heaven…”

 _For Alouette…_ Prier mouths. _For Alouette…_

When the prayers are done, everyone sits except Prier and the other Sisters. Prier exits the row, to stand before the altar. They begin with humming, and then instruments, and then fully break out into song.

Prier sings the loudest of all of them. Her voice is gorgeous, she knows, even when all she’s doing is screaming. She sings, and tries to bring at least a little joy to the people listening at the service.

It’s the least she can do, to make up for her transgressions.

==

At some point, Prier had stopped praying to anyone other than Alouette.

It’s hard to figure out when, if only because Prier is so erratic in keeping her bedtime prayer routine. She misses days, here and there. She puts off doing it, and then says the prayers at strange times – when she’s in the bathroom, or between bites at dinner, or about to clobber a monster. She goes on missions for the Church and the Royal Family and forgets all about praying completely. And then she comes back and forces herself to say her bedtime prayers three times in one day.

Maybe if she hadn’t forced herself, she wouldn’t have desperately reached for Alouette’s name.

(Maybe if she hadn’t forced herself, she never would have prayed again at all.)

And then, one day, she forces herself to reach for a name and realises Alouette’s is the only one she has left.

It’s wrong to worship idols and false gods – it says so in the Holy Book. Prier has read it cover to cover multiple times. There are parts of the Book that are strange and, frankly, stupid. Prier has openly contested multiple points of the scripture with the other Sisters, but the passages on idolatry have never been a point of her scepticism.

The Holy Book also says that the Maiden of Light and the Goddess Poitreene are one in the same. The Maiden of Light is only the Goddess’s divine essence realised in human form. So, as the Maiden of Light, Alouette should be an appropriate target of prayer.

But the truth is, if Alouette is the Goddess, Prier knows that’s not the Alouette that she prays to. The Alouette that Prier prays to is a pretentious, stuck-up _bitch_ that had routinely beaned her over the head with the Holy Book.

It’s the Alouette that Prier has always had trouble taking entirely seriously, so her prayers become less like prayers, and more like casual conversations between unhappy acquaintances who, frankly, know each other far too well.

“Hi Alouette! I’m working hard here at the church! Everyone misses you! Or almost everyone~!” Prier chirps one night, as she pulls her coif off her head.

“Ah, well, I don’t have any idea what I’m doing. But Culotte seems to be doing well at least…” she pouts, weeks later, as she kicks off her boots.

A month later…

“I hardly ever see Eclair and Homard these days. I worry about the Chocolat Gang, too, but… Well, but I shouldn’t have to relay information about them to you. Go see them yourself if you’re so interested,” she quips, as she rips off her tights.

And then a year…

“And Culotte’s gotten so tall and strong… And everyone we grew up with at the orphanage… And Croix was already all of those things, which I guess is why he left… What does anybody even need me for anymore anyway… I guess I’m still a first rate demon hunter!” she smirks, as she pulls her dress over her head.

Five years…

“And Father Salade and all the Sisters and Culotte! We all loved you! But Culotte most of all! My brother was _in_ love with you, you idiot! And everyone knew it, even _you_! But you left him anyhow! You left him all _alone_ , you fucking _bitch_!” she screamed, as loudly as she dared. She unhooked her brassiere and her breasts were heaved up and down as she hurled the offending garment at the wall.

Five years and a day…

“Sister Alouette, Maiden of Light, the Holy Embodiment of the Goddess…” Prier begins. Her nightgown and bloomers are already secured over her naked form.

_She can’t do it._

“Alouette,” she starts again. She can’t stop the puppy dog eyes, even though she’s fully aware they never worked on Alouette. “I didn’t mean it,” she lies. “Alouette. Please.”

==

She had been travelling with her brother and Sister Olive, when they finally return home. It’s dark out, well past dinnertime, but the other Sisters will certainly bring out the leftovers when they get back to the Church.

“Oh, you think?” Prier says sarcastically.

They pass a Mooboo yoked to a cart. Her eyes zone in hungrily on the animal’s fatty flank.

“You don’t think they’ll have Mooboo Pot Roast, do you?” she asks. Her mouth waters.

Culotte shakes his head, like he’s so cool. “You never change do you, Prier?” he asks shortly.

“After so many years, you’d think you’d know that gluttony is a sin, Sister Prier,” Sister Olive offers. But she gives Prier a half smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” Prier scowls. She sticks out her tongue. “It’s probably just going to be potatoes and vegetables again~”

Sister Olive smiles, and Culotte snorts, and they resume talking about… whatever it is they’re talking about.

Prier’s eyes turn down the alley.

“Ugh! Forget this!” she groans. “I’m heading to the Kingfisher Noodle Shop!” she announces loudly. “It’s not Mooboo steak, but I’ll get some meat at least. Can’t count on the Church for anything tasty…”

Sister Olive turns back around again, to face her.

Prier stands her ground, waiting for divine judgement.

None comes.

“Sister Prier…” Sister Olive says lightly. “You should consider your standing in the Church of the Holy Maiden before you make such flippant decisions.”

“What? It’s already after dark,” Culotte translates. “You’re just inviting trouble, walking into a seedy noodle shop, dressed like that, in the middle of the night.” He shakes his head, like he’s talking to a silly child.

Prier clenches her fist, glares and advances on him slowly.

“ _I-didn’t-say-anything!-See-you!-Bye!_ ” Culotte jabbers quickly, before skittering ahead.

Sister Olive looks at her impassively for a moment. “Be careful,” she advises, before running to catch up with Culotte.

Somehow it doesn’t make her feel better. Prier stomps away, down the alley to the noodle shop. She goes to cracks her finger joints and realises, belatedly, she’s still wearing her spiked brass knuckles. She removes them, but leaves on her fighting gloves.

She’s still stomping when she enters the noodle shop, and ignores the waitress’s attempts to shoehorn her into a particular seat. She swipes the menu right out of the waitress’s hands, and peruses it quickly before tossing it back down at an already occupied table.

“Hey!” somebody protests, as Prier shoves her way into a seat at the corner of the bar. She pulls her coif off roughly and tosses it down on the counter in front of her.

The chef takes his sweet time getting to her, but eventually he nods at the other customers and walks over to where Prier is sitting. He smiles, even while Prier scowls deeply.

“Ah, Sister Prier!” he says. “A pleasure to-”

“I’ll have a large tempura udon,” she commands. “With extra carrots and an egg. And some sake.”

“Are you quite okay, Sister Prier? What happened?” he asks.

Prier colours and fails to say anything. It’s upsetting that she doesn’t have an answer to his question.

_Sister Olive is nice, but it doesn’t make me happy. My brother treats me like a child, and it would hurt less if he weren’t so mature, or if I thought I didn’t deserve it. I had a man I loved, and I spent the best years of my life waiting for him, but he never came back for me._

_And they’re afraid of me. They talk behind my back about how I enjoy tearing out the spines and intestines a little too much, be they the spines and intestines of monsters or demons or humans alike._

And none of that explains how she went from mild irritation to irrational blistering in less than ten minutes.

“Did you hear my order or not?!” Prier snaps.

“How do you intend to pay, my dear?” the chef asks. “I’m not running a noodle charity, you know…”

“You know I work for the Church!” Prier seethes. She bangs her fist roughly on the counter. The bowls are left rattling all the way on the other side of the bar. “Put it on Father Salade’s tab!”

Prier gets her noodles because they’re afraid of her.

And still not afraid enough, once she’s gotten a couple of drinks in her.

“ _You don’t know her?_ ”

“ _That’s Sister Prier, expert demon hunter. She works for the Church on the other side of town, but that’s about the only holy thing about her._ ”

“ _Crazy bitch._ ”

“ _She was involved in some incident a while back, when the Dark Prince reappeared. She’s kind of gone over the deep end since then._ ”

“ _Man, and she was intimidating even before all that happened! Even as a kid she used to go around punching and kicking her way through every problem._ ”

“ _Mmm… You couldn’t pay me to hit it. Not that I don’t see the allure, but she’s not exactly pretty either._ ”

“ _But she does have that huge rack. And a pretty little ass too._ ”

“ _Nothin’ little about it._ ”

“ _Yeah, but she’ll kill you._ ”

“ _Eh, heh~ All she needs is a little sweet talk and a firm hand~ Just you see~_ ”

The world is fuzzy in the dimly lit noodle bar, and Prier slurps up her noodles loudly and picks idly at the tempura and carrots with her chopsticks. The sake is warm and, thankfully, not too bitter after a couple of shots.

“Hey, I couldn’t help but notice you were sitting alone, my love.”

Somebody slides up into the seat next to Prier. Prier glances over out of the corner of her eye.

He’s about twice her age, and she’s not in the mood. She grumbles and slurps her noodles up extra loud.

“I’m Antoine. And you must be Sister Prier. Can’t go a foot in this town without hearing your name, beautiful.”

Prier grunts.

 _Aren’t you too old, and a little too_ pathetic _, to be picking up girls in an old noodle shop?_ Prier thinks, but she can’t get the words out. Instead, she pours herself another shot of sake and downs it.

“Ah, a lady that can hold her liquor!” the man says. “How enchanting! May I buy you another drink.”

Prier is well aware she can _not_ hold her liquor. But she nods anyhow.

 _Too old, old man_ , she thinks.

She imagines pulling off a pair of dark sunglasses, to reveal pure blue eyes and delicate features, framed by a blond semicircle of bangs.

 _I need to stop falling for people over fifty years older than me_ , she thinks drearily.

The man waves for another bottle of sake. He scoots his stool over closer to Prier and lays an arm over her shoulder.

“Here, let me pour you another glass,” he says, as he slides his hand down to her chest, and then past her stomach to her thigh.

For a second Prier just sits there, and then she blinks. The man’s face is too rough, and there are not enough sunglasses or blond hair to make up for it.

Prier coughs lightly. She curls her fist together.

“Hhhhh-yaaaahhh!” she shouts, as she jumps up from her seat and plunges her fist into his stomach. There’s not enough build-up for it, and she can’t swing her full weight into the blow, but the punch lands hard all the same. The man is sent flying out of the chair and onto the floor behind him.

“Holy crap!” somebody shouts.

“You-!” the man coughs, curling up on the ground.

“Did he just cough up blood?!” somebody says.

“Did she just aim right for his liver?!”

The man does look in terrible pain.

“Psycho!” somebody calls.

“Now! Now! Hold on a minute!” the chef calls, scurrying out behind the counter.

Somebody touches her shoulder, very lightly. And they pull back when Prier swipes angrily over at them.

“Does anybody know some healing spells?”

“Antoine isn’t young anymore! His health isn’t what it was! Somebody has to take him in for treatment! Quickly!”

“What did you do, Sister Prier?”

Prier fumbles. She was never good at healing spells. Not that she would have used them on the old fart anyhow.

 _Take him to the church, Prier,_ somebody says softly. _Somebody there can heal him._

“Yeah, right!” Prier protests hotly. “I’m not taking this old man anywhere! Should I carry him there?! Like he’s not just _looking_ for another excuse to grope at me!”

Somebody wails.

Alouette sighs. “Perhaps I was foolish, Prier.”

She clasps her hands together. The miracle shines bright white all around them, as the healing power of the Goddess floods the room.

“The Goddess herself has intervened,” somebody says, awed.

When the power fades, Alouette sighs again. More deeply this time.

The man is standing. And when his vision focusses, he scurries quickly away from Prier, along with the rest of the room.

“See,” the chef says. He pauses, and then reaches out to pat Prier’s shoulder lightly, demonstrating his lack of fear. “She prayed to heal him, didn’t she! She just doesn’t know her own strength.”

Only a few people let their gazes linger, before turning away completely.

“Never a dull moment with you, Sister Prier,” the chef says, before walking off behind the counter.

“Oi! Get me another bowl will you,” she calls after him.

Maybe he nods, but Prier can’t see. She reclaims her seat at the bar.

Alouette takes the now empty seat next to her. She holds her hands together, and the air around them shimmers.

“I put up a shield,” Alouette explains, as she opens her eyes and unclasps her hands. “So they won’t bother you. To keep you safe.”

“To keep me safe, or to keep everyone else safe?” Prier asks, bored.

Alouette smiles, sweetly, but a little stiff. “You’re a Sister of the Church of the Holy Maiden. The Holy Book tells us that the suffering of all man, is like the suffering of ourselves. So to put others at risk, is to put ourselves at risk.”

“Is that so?” Prier says lamely, picking at the last dregs of her udon at the bottom of the bowl.

Alouette is as self-righteously preachy as ever.

“Why are you here?” Prier asks. She squints to help her blurred vision, as she takes another drink. “I wasn’t praying to you this time,” she says.

“You weren’t? My mistake then,” Alouette says breezily.

Prier groans. The chef, thankfully, sets her second bowl of noodles before her. She accepts it with a nod and clicks her chopsticks together in her hand.

“Gluttony is a sin, Prier,” Alouette chides lightly.

“Look, aren’t you dead?!” Prier snips. “You’re dead!” She shuffles the chopsticks to her left hand and reaches over to pinch Alouette on the shoulder. “Are you here for some reason? Or are you just going to nag at me the whole time?!”

“Don’t you know?” Alouette sounds surprised. “They always say that the Goddess works in mysterious ways,” she finishes much too seriously.

Prier scrunches her eyebrows. She’s not as much of an expert as she should be, but she knows that’s a false passage, not actually found in the Holy Book.

Alouette’s wearing a smug half-smile.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, but it takes Prier much too long to realise Alouette’s messing with her.

“Ugh, what an old biddy,” Prier grumbles.

“Language,” Alouette protests.

Prier doesn’t remember getting home that night. But, the next morning, one of the other Sisters says she stumbled in in the early hours, drunk and alone, and leaning so heavily to her side, it was a miracle she didn’t fall over.

 _Smile, Prier,_ somebody had whispered up into her right ear. They had groaned a little as they reshuffled her weight on their shoulder. _You always look prettiest when you smile._

==

They’re not actually foolish enough to put Prier in charge of etiquette lessons. (Sister Julienne is in charge of that.) But somebody has to cover the battle primers, and the Church is understaffed – between the causalities of five years ago among its senior members, and the growing number of disciples.

“Big Sis Prier,” Georges had asked her, with the other children from the orphanage standing attentively beside him. “Do you think we join the Church of the Holy Maiden, too?”

“Ah, well…” Prier had started lamely. “Only if you want to spend all your time kicking demon butt and not getting paid for it.”

 _Not if you can do_ anything _else with your life,_ was what Prier wanted to say. But Father Salade and the other Sisters had always been good to her. And, without Alouette around to scold her, she felt guilty enough with what she had said.

But she can’t help but feel disappointed that the children had followed in her footsteps after all. It only adds to her dissatisfaction and ennui, as she lectures her class.

“Er- The dark energy runs along the ground, and by interrupting the flow, you can redirect it at enemies and then…” Prier pauses momentarily, “…you purify the portals and the holy energy catalyses the-”

Rebecca raises her hand, although she doesn’t wait to be called on. “But how do you purify the portals, Sister Prier?”

Prier groans. “Don’t you guys know that much? You just clasp your hands and pray to the Goddess. Your prayers might not be strong enough to do much at first, but once you practice a little…”

Prier doesn’t even bother to purify portals anymore. She actually prefers to leave them open. If more enemies slip through from the Dark World, that only means there will be more enemies for her to fight.

“Ugh, it’s all about _practical_ experience!” Prier decides. “Battle is battle! All you need to know is kick the enemy where it hurts!”

“Um… where does it hurt, Sister Prier?” Rebecca asks.

“You kick ‘em in the nads,” Prier says, rapping her fist softly against the blackboard.

The class looks at her blankly.

Prier groans again. “Are kids really that innocent these days?” she grumbles to herself. “In the babymaker,” she announces.

“Oh~” the class echoes softly.

Prier watches them again and, this time, the innocence of the class seems more ominous than frustrating. They’re only eleven and twelve and thirteen, what kind of practical battle experience do children need?

“Ah, forget it~” Prier says. She reaches for the textbook on her desk and flips through it quickly. “Read pages… twenty through twenty-four and answer the critical thinking questions.”

The assignment is too short to fill up the rest of the afternoon, so the class slowly dissolves into organised chaos. Prier sits at the desk in front of the class, tilting back in her chair with her legs propped up on the desk, and her hands folded over her stomach. The children gather in the front row, and they chatter as they play their games, folding paper and flicking pencils at one another.

“Sister Julienne’s the worst!” Rocini complains. “She keeps on rapping my hands with her ruler.”

“She gets so angry whenever you call her anything other than Sister or Ma’am! And if you address the Father wrong…” René shivers.

“She’s just bitter ‘cause she’s an ugly old maid,” Rebecca snickers. “That’s why she gets mad during dancing lessons, if you don’t dance as stiff and lifeless as her.”

Georges and Ève both laugh.

Prier doesn’t really care about Sister Julienne, but something about this piques her annoyance.

“Hey, hey. Watch it, guys. Don’t talk about her like that.”

The children pause only briefly.

“That’s what you say, Big Sis,” Rebecca quips smugly. “But if Sister Julienne saw you sitting like that at the desk, she’d be the one hitting you with a ruler and shouting at you to sit up straight.”

Prier rocks her chair back and forth on its back legs. She crosses and uncrosses her feet on the desk.

She’d like to see Sister Julienne even try it with her. Prier wouldn’t need a ruler to hit back as hard as she got.

“That’s not the point,” Prier says. “When you’re older, you get to do what you want. But children should at least be obedient!”

“After Big Sis used to have her etiquette lessons,” Georges says, with the air of divulging something forbidden, “she’d always come home and badmouth Sister Alouette.”

“Used to call Miss Alouette a demonic old hag… and that wasn’t even the worst of it…” René puts in quietly.

“Remember that one time she tried to convince us that Sister Alouette always farted during the Father’s sermon?” Rebecca says. “And she wouldn’t let it go for weeks, even though we told her we didn’t believe her!”

Alouette giggles. “See,” she says. “Slanderous statements only serve to discredit their speaker.”

All four legs of Prier’s chair hit the floor. She’s on her feet after only a second, standing tall over the others, with her arms crossed over her chest.

“What was that?!” Prier demands. “Want to try saying it again, and see what happens?!”

The children cower.

“Oh, no. It’s nothing, Sister Prier,” they murmur.

Prier glares.

“Get! Out!” she demands, and the children gather their books and bags and waste no time bolting out the door.

(Alouette, naturally, doesn’t leave with them. She follows Prier into her memories, invader that she is.)

…

The children are right, of course:

Prier had, at one time, complained about Alouette to anybody who would listen. And, quite frankly, there were a disproportionate number of people who were _willing_ to listen.

“She’s a stuck up old crone who can’t seem to mind her own business!” Sister Amelie had agreed.

“She thinks she’s better than everyone else! Smug bitch!” Sister Elvira had responded.

“What I don’t understand is why Father Salade favours her so!” Sister Ravioli had bristled. “We all work hard in the name of the Goddess!”

And, once, Sister Olive had caught her badmouthing Alouette to the others in the public baths. She had spanked Prier for her bad behaviour, in addition to assigning her lines as extra punishment.

But even Sister Olive had betrayed Alouette in the end.

Prier sat in the bathwater and cried. She rubbed her swollen behind and blinked away her tears, not fast enough.

Sister Olive took pity.

“Let me wash your hair, Prier,” she said, and Prier didn’t dare disobey as Sister Olive beckoned her over.

Sister Olive lathered her hands with soap and ran them against Prier’s scalp.

“The other day, even I came under Sister Alouette’s scrutiny,” she admitted. “She tried to tell me I had interpreted a passage of the Holy Book wrong, and then proceeded to inform me I was holding my utensils wrong. This was at dinner, in front of Father Salade and all the other Sisters.”

Sister Olive massaged her scalp, and the soap suds fell down over Prier’s face, forcing Prier to shut her eyes.

Prier pouted. She was wary of Sister Olive, after the spanking. But she found herself commiserating just the same.

Sister Olive continued. “I think she truly didn’t consider how a public display of criticism might be humiliating. She seemed surprised when I said as much, and even apologised to me later in private.”

Prier said nothing, but clutched her hands together.

“Not everything comes easily to Sister Alouette. There are ways in which she is still ignorant and naïve. And, more often than not, I believe she really has no idea what to say. Please know she means well, even if…”

Sister Olive trailed off.

Prier frowned and found her courage.

“Even if she is a bossy bitch,” she finished for Sister Olive.

Sister Olive was pouring water over Prier’s head, but she paused ominously and, for a second, Prier was afraid she had gotten herself in trouble again.

But then Sister Olive laughed and continued washing. “Where have you picked up these phrases?” she asked rhetorically.

Her agreement with the sentiment was tacit.

And, now, it upsets Prier more than she can say.

She wants to yell at them. She wants to hurt them. She wants to scream that Alouette is wonderful, if not perfect, and possessively declare that she’s the _only one_ that’s allowed to say anything bad about Alouette.

But there’s nothing for Prier to defend against. Nobody says anything bad about Alouette anymore.

Sister Alouette was the Maiden of Light, and she sacrificed herself to save the world. She’s a martyr and a saint, and that’s all there is to that story.

==

“Culotte, where’s my laundry?!” Prier demands.

She bangs her fist loudly against his door. And, when that doesn’t work, she rattles the locked doorknob again.

She needed clean underwear by yesterday. She adjusts her dress self-consciously. Going without isn’t an option.

“I know you’re in there, Culotte!” Prier shouts, banging harder on the door. “I can hear you sneaking around back there!”

The fact that Culotte doesn’t deign to answer her sets her off even more.

She steps back from the door, inhales deeply, then exhales.

And then she kicks the door in.

The wood splinters at the lock, and the top hinge snaps in half. The door slams against the wall, and then creaks much more softly, as it sways side to side on the bottom hinge.

Prier’s laundry bag is sitting untouched on the floor next to Culotte’s dresser, right where she left it three days earlier. She grits her teeth, intending to give Culotte a piece of her mind.

But then she’s distracted by a much more pertinent issue.

Culotte finishes adjusting his jacket and his pants, before he turns to Prier. He turns towards her, but his face is burning red, and he’s looking bashfully down at the ground.

“ _Who_ is _that_?!” Prier demands, pointing enraged at the girl next to him.

She had been sitting on the bed, but scrambled up as soon as the door caved in. She shoves her feet in her slippers, and adjusts her skirt, before rubbing her hand over her neck and jawline.

She’s on the slender side, but otherwise looks nothing like _her_.

Prier glances back into the hall, and tries to swing the door closed behind her, to no avail.

“What are you _doing_ with this _tramp_?!” Prier hisses, trying to keep her voice as low as possible in an attempt to maintain privacy. She advances on Culotte, trying to glare him down.

Instead, Culotte bristles defensively. “Don’t talk about her like that!” he protests hotly, before calming again. “Actually, I’ve been wanting to introduce you. Prier, this is-”

“What the _hell_ are you doing?!” Prier interrupts. “You’re training to become a _priest_!”

“Um…” the girl says softly. She starts to smile, hesitantly, but the grin wobbles on her lips and disappears.

Culotte steps in front of her protectively.

“That’s right,” he says, confidently. “I’m going to become a priest.”

“Then _what_ ,” Prier seethes, “are you doing fooling around with some _whore_ in a locked room!”

The girl flinches.

“I said don’t talk about her like that!” Culotte reiterates. “And, I know it’s better to wait, but- uh-” Culotte turns bright red and twiddles his fingers. “I plan on marrying her so, if it happens sooner rather than later…”

She can’t listen anymore. Prier stomps over to Culotte’s desk, picks up his reading lamp, and hurls it at them.

Culotte stops mid-sentence. His eyes go wide, and he shuffles to the side, dragging the girl with him, as the lamp flies through the air.

It shatters as it hits the ground, and the girl lets out a ‘meep’, as the glass flies at her feet.

“Prier! What are you-!”

Culotte’s desk is far from empty. It’s covered in notebooks and glass beakers and makeshift paperweights and the chemicals he uses to make his bombs. She grabs the closest thing and hurls it at them.

“What _the hell_!” she screams, already grabbing for the next item.

“Prier-! Why-!” Culotte growls, and then turns to the girl. “Get to the window, Virginie, I’ll shield you-”

“You stupid-!” Prier shouts, grabbing a compass off the desk and hurling it.

The girl heads for the window, and Culotte sidesteps in front of her. He raises his arm block the protractor and Holy Book that Prier throws next, and reaches for his dresser. His hand finds a hairbrush, which he flings over at Prier in return.

The problem with this, of course, is that Prier’s aim isn’t very good, while Culotte is a master of projectile weaponry. The brush hits Prier square in the forehead, and she pauses a moment stupefied.

“Goddess help us all!” the girl says, swinging her legs over the windowsill. “Is she always like this?” she asks Culotte.

“Eh, heh…” Culotte laughs lamely in response.

This jerks Prier out of her stupor. She snarls, and hurls a glass beaker at the girl.

It misses by a wide margin, but the girl lets out another small cry and slides herself off the window sill.

They’re only half a floor off the ground. _Culotte’s probably been sneaking her in and out through that window_ , Prier thinks bitterly.

Culotte runs after, and leans out the window to shout after her, headless of the items that Prier’s flinging at him.

“I’m really sorry about my sister!” he says. “I’ll meet up with you in a couple of days, okay?! Ow-!” He exclaims, as a textbook clips his shoulder.

“I can’t _believe_ you!” Prier screams. Hurrying to grab the rest of the items off the desk. “I can’t _believe_ -!”

Culotte runs back to his bed and dresser. He contemplates briefly, before throwing a pillow at her, in meek retaliation.

“She’s gone, Prier! Stop it already!” he shouts.

“I can’t _believe_ -!” she repeats, groping around for another item. Her hand closes around a bottle of ink, the last of the items on the desk.

Her eyes dart to the window briefly, to make sure the girl can’t overhear her.

“You’re supposed to be in love with Alouette!” Prier shouts. She throws the bottle with one final hurl, before crossing her arms over her chest.

Culotte sidesteps it nimbly, and the ink bottle lands, in one piece, on the mattress.

Prier hunches her shoulders. She hangs her head and grits her teeth.

Culotte looks at her as if she’s sprouted another head.

“This can’t be what- Is _that_ what this is about?” he mutters to himself.

Culotte pulls at his collar absently, and shakes his head.

“Prier…” he says. “Alouette’s dead.”

“So?!” Prier shoots out defensively.

She exhales, and feels ashamed, for some reason.

“I though you loved her…” she continues, softly.

“I did,” Culotte says. “I _do_!” he insists. “But, Prier, that was five years ago. I was _twelve_.” He shakes his head again. “It wasn’t like it was for you at that time – I didn’t understand what love was like, for adults.”

 _What it was like for me?_ Prier thinks. _What_ was _it like for me?_

The devotion and concern and affinity she had felt for Croix – had that really been love? With all the ramifications she’s now aware of?

_Were we really that different, Culotte?_

Culotte softens, because he’s always been too soft for his own good.

“B-big Sis?” he quarries tentatively. “Do you want to- Are you ready to talk about her?” He smiles at her, looking impossibly young. “I could never get you to talk about Sister Alouette, or our parents, or anybody else that we’ve lost… I know you don’t like to talk, but... If you’re ready, maybe we can… visit their graves.”

Prier shuffles on her feet.

“It doesn’t have to be sad,” Culotte coaxes. “I’ll ask Father Salade for a day off, and we can have a picnic! Maybe I can invite Virginie, too, and introduce you properly this time… We’ll introduce her to Alouette, as well.”

_It doesn’t have to be sad._

Prier tenses up again. _Doesn’t it?_ she thinks.

“ _Huuurrruuugh!_ ” she groans. She pulls one of the desk’s drawers free from its spot, and hurls that at her brother next.

Culotte squeaks as he dodges. He reaches for the items on the dresser once more.

And they continue like that, hurling books and equipment and, eventually, dirty laundry at one another, and not saying anything. And, finally, Father Salade and the other nuns arrive to restrain them.

==

“I don’t know why you’re lecturing _me_ ,” Prier protests, drumming her fingers against the solid oak of the Father’s desk.

She pouts. She can’t help but pout.

 _I’m not the one who’s having premarital sex_ , she thinks.

Father Salade seems to read her mind, because he presses one hand against his chest and stretches the other one up, towards the Goddess.

“Oh, if the love between a man and a woman were sin, we would all be sinners. Forgive your brother. Sometimes, people are married in their hearts, before they can procure the means for a proper union.”

Prier harrumphs. But she’s calmer despite herself – a side effect of the bright, inviting nature of Father Salade’s study.

“I’ve spoken with him in any case,” Father Salade says, “and made clear the possible consequences of his actions… If he were to father a child out of wedlock, it would certainly put his standing in the church under question.”

 _So it’s fine so long as he doesn’t get the girl pregnant, and once he does you’ll toss him out on the street_. Prier frowns.

Father Salade shakes his head.

“Sister Prier… how much of your rage and dissatisfaction are born out of your brother, and how much out of your own circumstances.”

Prier flinches. She crosses her arms defensively.

“Don’t try and make this about me!” Prier hisses. “Just because I’m single-”

Father Salade grimaces. The look he gives Prier is unimpressed.

“I was speaking only about your expectations for your relationship with your brother…”

Prier tisks and turns to look out the window. It’s a beautiful sunny day, and the birds are singing.

“Growing up does not mean growing apart, but…” Father Salade pauses pointedly before continuing. “A man has the need for independence… self-sufficiency… the opportunity to make his own decisions, and his own mistakes… A man needs to be proud of himself, in of himself. I thought you understood that… Was that not why you allowed Mr Croix to find his own path, after your escape from the Angel Gate?”

Prier bristles. The rage boils in her stomach, and in her chest, and spills out every which way.

“What a _man_ needs?!” she rages. “What about what _I_ need?!” she demands. “What about _my_ independence, and _my_ pride?!”

Father Salade regards her quietly. He seems to contemplate for a minute, but then he only sighs and hangs his head.

“I do not know,” he admits. “I fear deeply, that your needs have fallen to the wayside.”

He laughs and the wrinkles on his face seem very pronounced when he looks up to meet Prier’s eyes.

“I remember when you were just a little girl. You used to run around the orphanage, singing, and spinning your baton, and picking fights with anybody that would give you the time of day. You were so cheerful! And you had your heart absolutely set on becoming the Maiden of Light! Even as recently as a couple of years ago, I remember you intended to succeed Alouette’s position as the Maiden. What happened to those dreams of yours?”

Prier slouches in her chair.

 _And I remember_ you _were going to retire, and help your wife with the orphanage_ , she thinks, eyeing Father Salade warily. _What happened with that?_

Father Salade sighs. “No, I know what happened,” he answers. “You gave your dreams up – for Culotte’s sake, and for Croix’s, and for Alouette…”

Father Salade looks at her pointedly.

Prier shuffles anxiously in her seat.

“What do you keep bringing _her_ up for?” she grumbles.

Father Salade gives her another pointed look.

“You do know that Sister Olive is neither blind, nor deaf?” he asks. “She told to me that during the services, you pray to Sister Alouette, rather than to the Goddess Poitreene.”

Prier curses under her breath and jerks her head away. Which as good as gives the game away.

“You must pray to the Goddess, Sister Prier,” Father Salade says firmly. “Even praying to her Maiden of Light, Alouette, is not the same.”

Prier mumbles something under her breath.

“Please, Sister Prier. Pray to the Goddess with me.” Father Salade raises his arms up. “In the name of the Goddess Poitreene, and her Maiden of Light…”

 _Alouette,_ Prier mouths.

“Prier… The Goddess-” Father Salade prompts.

_No._

_No, no, no._

“Prier-”

“I won’t!” Prier shouts, jerking forward in her seat, glaring suddenly at the Father. “I _won’t_ pray to the Goddess that deified Alouette, and then let her life expire!”

She’s breathing hard.

Father Salade swallows deeply, and purses his lips.

“Is that what Alouette would have wanted?” he asked. “Do you think she’d be pleased?”

 _Absolutely not_ , Prier thinks.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass!” she shouts.

There’s just silence in the room, but then Prier breaks. She clutches the arms of her chair and shakes.

“I don’t know what this is,” she confesses. “I can’t stop thinking about her, even in-”

_-inappropriate manners._

“When I should be sleeping… or eating, or working, or doing _anything_ else- She appears to me everywhere I go,” Prier says. “I see visions of her all the time… It’s driving me crazy.”

Father Salade hums contemplatively.

“Do you see her now?” he asks.

“No,” Prier lies. Her eyes dart to the ceiling. Alouette is dancing there, dangling headless of the perpetuity of Prier’s conflict.

“These visions are the work of demons…” The Father sighs, but he also looks strangely at peace. “This is a sin, Sister Prier, and yet- It is not a sin I can condemn you for.”

He smiles at her.

Prier contemplates this.

 _At least one of us won’t condemn me_ , she thinks.

Father Salade reaches for a booklet on his desk. He opens it, and scribbles on the ledger with his quill.

“Sister Prier,” he says. “Have you ever considered a life outside of the Church?”

Prier sits there, with her arms and legs crossed, and a blank look on her face.

Then, horror and realisation set in around her.

“Wha-?! Are you kicking me out?!” she demands.

“It is a rather grave sin, to love another more than you love the Goddess…” Father Salade says seriously. “Er, no, I’m not kicking you out,” he hastens to reassure, when he sees Prier’s angry glare. “…At least not right away.”

Prier balls her hands into fists and tries to glare the Father down.

It doesn’t work.

“You have given up many dreams,” he acknowledges. “Perhaps it is time for some new ones. I’m giving you the week off… during which I want you to contemplate on what else you might like to do with your life.”

Father Salade stands and reaches forward to pat Prier on the shoulder.

Prier hunches her shoulders and rolls her eyes. No matter how old she gets, he still makes her feel like a child.

“During your time off, you should go visit Princess Eclair,” he announces, sitting back down. “It’s been several times, that she’s written, inquiring about you.”

“Eh~” Prier sticks out her tongue. “You’re ordering me around, and not even paying me for my time?” she whines.

“Do it. Or I really will kick you out,” Father Salade jokes, and sets his quill back in the inkpot.

==

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me…”

_…your highness? My princess?_

“…Eclair,” Prier decides.

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Big Sister,” Eclair reassures, without even the slightest bout of hesitation. “Let’s go out to the garden. I’m afraid I’m being sequestered for the next three months.” She laughs, so that Prier knows it’s a joke. “But, we can walk through the gardens at least.”

Eclair explains how she’s occupying her time and managing her duties to the state, as they walk through the gardens, but Prier’s eyes keep flitting down towards Eclair’s stomach.

Eclair’s baby bump is not only visible, it’s prominent.

And then her eyes flit back up, over Eclair’s ornate dress and up to her long hair, which has been braided in six heavy braids, folded over and pinned to the back of her head.

Between her pregnancy and her braids, Prier isn’t sure how a skinny thing like Eclair doesn’t crumble under the weight.

_No, but she knows Eclair is made of tougher stuff than that. Physically, at least._

Prier picks at the ends of her own hair, absentmindedly.

They circle the rose bushes several times, and then Eclair leads her to gazebo in the middle of the garden. There’s a table set-up for tea, and Eclair takes pulls out one of the chairs. She pulls her skirt tight behind her, and sits down lumberously.

Prier takes the seat across from her. She examines the puits d'amour – the red and orange jams that seep out their sides.

She forces herself to listen to Eclair.

“Yattanya and Papillon still stop by every once in a while, so I suspect he wants to run away with them, adventuring. I feel as though I can’t begrudge him though, Big Sister. Our responsibilities towards Marl and Paprika come first, but so long as there’s time…”

Prier doesn’t understand her meaning.

“Oh, but I’ve been going on far too long,” Eclair decides. “Tell me. How is it you’re doing, Big Sister?”

The tea has, thus far, gone untouched, but Prier picks up a pastry and brushes off the sugar.

She waits a little too long.

“Well, you know, I’m demon hunting like usual!” Prier laughs, not entirely calmly. “Tougher than ever! Nothing can beat me, not even in the Dark World!”

Eclair smiles kindly.

It’s upsetting for some reason.

Prier grits her teeth behind her lips. She takes a breath... and then lets go.

“And Culotte is doing well,” Prier says brightly. “He thought he’d just let it be the two of us today, but he sends his prayers. He’s… got a girlfriend now, and I think he’s thinking seriously about becoming a preacher.”

“That’s good,” Eclair says sincerely. “And, uh…” she hesitates briefly, “how about you, Big Sister? Have you heard from Croix? Or found a new love?”

 _No. Yes_. Prier thinks.

And then she’s barely thinking at all. Except about the gentle, hesitant way Eclair asks those questions, like she’s worried Prier might be too delicate to hear them. It bothers Prier more than the questions themselves.

“Huh? Are you worried about me, Eclair?” Prier forces out, smiling. “Hey, hey, I’m your big sister! It’s my job to be worrying about you! C’mon tell me about the baby!”

Eclair blinks – once, twice – and then smiles. She laces her fingers together and stretches her arms.

“Oh, well, I think I told you most of it already…”

 _Had she?_ Prier wonders. _Damn._

“…but, um, there’s something I haven’t told anyone…”

Her voice has gone soft, and Prier leans across the table to hear her better, curious about what Eclair’s getting ready to divulge.

“Ah, I really hope it’s a boy,” Eclair says, blushing. “I mean, mother and her advisors really want a girl, so they’ll have somebody to carry on the throne, but I-”

Eclair leans forward too and whispers. “I really want things to stay like this, with Homard and I, and a carefree son… Just a little longer, before I have to raise the next queen…”

Eclair buries her face in her hands, but Prier can see an embarrassed grin spilling out over the sides of her face. She leans back in her seat.

And Prier feels _it_ , the way she never had when they were both children – the distance of the money and rank and standing, and even the _happiness_ , that ran between them.

 _Is that really your greatest concern, Eclair?_ Prier thinks. _If Culotte gets his little whore pregnant, they’ll be raising that kid in an alley._

_Who in the world has the patience to bother with the perfect little life you’ve built?_

Prier doesn’t really understand it. She has no ambitions towards the burden of the royal throne. Right from the start, she had thought Homard an _unbearable_ eccentric. And spending her teenage years babying Culotte had cured her of any aspirations towards motherhood. There’s nothing Eclair has that Prier _wants_! But that doesn’t stop the jealousy from burning in her throat like bile.

“So which does Homard prefer?” Prier asks suddenly.

Eclair presses her palms to her cheeks one last time, before letting go.

“Well, I think he’d prefer a girl as well, to dote over, but-”

“No,” Prier interrupts firmly. “Between you, and your dark side, which does he prefer?”

The grin disappears from Eclair’s face, Prier’s wonders if she’s imagining the way the temperature seems to drop.

_From the edge of the gazebo, Alouette sighs and shakes her head. Prier can see her braid sway back and forth, just below the roof. White feathers drift down over the side._

“I wasn’t expecting- Why do you ask?” Eclair laughs nervously. “Should it matter? We _are_ the same person, after all. Like _sisters_.”

Prier leans forward. She rests her elbow on the table and props her face up on her hand. With her other hand, she picks at the crumbs on the pastry platter, and smooshes them between her fingers.

“Sisters aren’t the same person,” she says.

_Sister Olive, Sister Julienne, Sister Elvira…_

_Sister Alouette & Sister Prier._

_And you and me, Eclair._

“I- I believe he prefers us equally,” Eclair says.

“Oh, does he?” Prier says lightly.

_And which do you prefer, Prier – Croix or Alouette?_

Nobody says anything for a moment. Prier sits perfectly still and watches, as Eclair glances around, like a cornered mouse. The dark shadows below her eyelids intensify. She picks at her gloves and touches her stomach lightly.

She won’t meet Prier’s eyes.

“Ah, I don’t know why I didn’t- Let me pour the tea!” Eclair finally announces.

Prier removes her elbow from the table. She leans back in her seat, crosses her arms, and closes her eyes.

 _I really am the worst,_ she thinks.

Eclair forgives her, of course. She sends a message to the Church of the Holy Maiden. It’s full of small talk and pleasantries, with a pertinent note at the bottom.

_I had a talk with Homard and my darker side, about what we discussed the other day. At first I was rather distraught, but it turned out to be a huge relief – being able to voice my concerns and discomforts to those I cherish so deeply. I was upset with you the other day, for bringing up such a sore subject, but now I understand you were only worried about me, and wanted to make sure I wasn’t neglecting my own happiness. I understand why you did it._

“No, you don’t.” Prier frowns. “You really don’t.”

_I know you are busy but, please, write back at your earliest convenience, Big Sister. Come visit again soon-_

Prier shoves the letter into the trash.

==

In her dreams, sometimes, Alouette is an angel. She’s an angel with absurd white wings, and a regal bearing, and she holds the Holy Book close to her chest.

She’s also wearing that tiny miniskirt – the one she always wore underneath her robes.

Prier dreams in bed, with her face resting against Alouette’s lap.

It’s winter and even inside the rooms of the Abbey, it’s bitter cold. But the sheets and pillows and Alouette are distressingly _hot_.

“What’s wrong, Prier?” Alouette asks gently. She runs one hand through Prier’s hair and pushes the curls off Prier’s brow.

Alouette is sitting with her wings resting against the headboard. Prier is lying on her stomach, with her cheek pressed to Alouette’s thigh.

Prier doesn’t answer. She only turns her face into Alouette’s hand.

Alouette keeps running her hand through Prier’s hair a bit longer, giving into the silence just a little bit longer.

On the other side of the window, frost collects on the glass. It collects in delicate crystal patterns, only to be obscured by the steam and fog of Prier’s room.

“I feel the turmoil in your soul,” Alouette says. She shakes her head and her long hair sways back and forth. “We saved all the world. We got your love out alive. Where have you strayed, Prier?”

Prier shakes her head minutely.

Alouette sighs.

“I want you to be happy, Prier,” she says. “What’s wrong?”

_I want you to smile for me._

Prier turns her face down into Alouette’s lap and inhales deeply.

The smell is light – not like the dirty menagerie you would expect from birds and feathers and wings – but still earthy enough that Prier is reminded Alouette isn’t solely a being of heaven.

 _Alouette’s stupid skirt is really,_ really _short._

Prier inhales again. She snakes her hands up. She hikes Alouette’s skirt up and runs her hands over Alouette’s skinny little waist.

“Prier…” Alouette says, exasperated.

Prier runs her fingers along the waistline of Alouette’s tights. She peels them away, running her hands deftly down the pale smooth skin of Alouette’s legs.

 _Shit_. Alouette always did have amazing legs. Prier was always so jealous of them – long and slender and _maidenly_ , where Prier’s legs were chunky and muscular.

“Prier. Stop,” Alouette says firmly.

Prier abandons the tights, pulled down only to Alouette’s calves. She hoists herself up, so she’s sitting over Alouette, and peels off Alouette’s robe.

Alouette’s wings flutter and stretch and shimmer, but the robe passes right through them, like they’re not even there.

Prier tugs the robe down to Alouette’s waist. Alouette turns her arms out of her sleeves.

“Prier, stop,” she says. “You know it is a sin, Prier.”

Prier bites her lip. She pulls off her own bloomers now, struggling briefly as they get pinned under her left knee. She leaves them floating in the bedsheets, and flushes deeply as she runs a hand through the dark curling red of her pubic hair. She pulls herself up, so she’s straddling Alouette, and reaches up to pull her own nightgown over her head. Her breasts plunge up and down as they’re released from the fabric.

Prier bends down. She pulls down the collar of Alouette’s dress and licks along her collarbone. She wraps one arm around Alouette’s shoulder and pulls her closer. With the other arm, she reaches up under Alouette’s dress and rubs her finger over a swollen nipple.

Alouette’s protests haven’t stopped.

“No, no, stop, stop,” she chants. Like it’s a prayer. Repeated ad nauseam until it’s lost all meaning.

Prier sucks heavily on Alouette’s collarbone, and Alouette squeaks and sighs.

Except that sigh sounds more exasperated than pleased.

“You’re not going to stop, are you?” Alouette asks.

Prier hikes Alouette’s dress up further.

Alouette sighs again.

“Very well,” Alouette agrees.

She arches her body up against Prier’s. She stretches one long arm around behind Prier, between her legs. Alouette’s finger nails are long, and scratch lightly against Prier’s skin and flesh, as Alouette peels her lips apart and palms the wetness of her sex.

“Mmm,” Prier moans.

“If you won’t stop,” Alouette says, “then I will help you… In the name of the Maiden of Light, I cannot let you bear the burden of this sin alone.”

Alouette shifts. She releases Prier momentarily, as she pulls her dress up and her panties down. She removes Prier’s right hand from her breast, directs it down between her legs, and shudders as she rolls Prier fingers over her own clit.

“Ah~ There,” Alouette says. She’s hovers her hand over Prier’s for a moment, to make sure Prier continues, before she moves her own hand back to service Prier.

“Nnn-” Prier snorts. “That’s not right,” she says, speaking for the first time. “You’re supposed to say you’ll punish me. Punish me in the name of the Goddess.”

Alouette laughs, breathily this time. She sinks down into the matrass, and the suffocating tangle of sheets and half-removed clothing.

“Punish you?” Alouette asks. Prier’s pendulous breasts are dangling in her face, and Alouette leans forward to catch one in her mouth and suckle at the teat.

Prier groans and presses her groin harder against Alouette’s hand.

Alouette lets her mouth off Prier’s nipple with a little pop, and chuckles headily.

“I died for you, Prier,” Alouette says, smiling. “I died for you, but if you want me to punish you – that’s too much to ask.”

==

In the Dark World, might is everything.

Which suits Prier more than fine.

“Hrrrrrrr-uh!” she cries as she lunges forward. She ploughs her fist through the shell of a crab-clawed demon. Reinforcements fly in to attack her from the sides, but Prier spins, ducking below the trajectory of their attacks and landing a high kick against one of their faces.

Even three on one, there’s no contest. Prier wipes them out, and continues her charge further through the Dark World.

“Wait! Prier!” Culotte is running behind her. “Our mission is to _investigate_ the Dark World, and to purify centres of dark energy – not wipe out every demon we come across!”

Prier ignores him because, just before the portal, one of the higher level demons has come across her.

It crawls against the ground like a lizard, and bears its large fangs.

“Backup, Culotte!” Prier commands. She summersaults backwards out of the range of the demon’s attack. “Bombs! Bombs!” she commands.

Culotte’s too far away though. He’s busy fighting a couple of Gargoyles that have cornered him half a field away.

“Eh, heh~ It’s just us then,” Prier grins, turning to the monster. She swings her baton off from where it’s strapped to her back. She hasn’t had to use it in a long time.

Later, she guts the demon. Turns its dead body over onto its back, slices open its stomach, and uses her baton to prod at the organs and half-digested beasts.

A crowd of demons has gathered around her, circling her from a safe distance. Prier taunts them, provokes them. She climbs up to stand on top of the demon’s corpse, and beckons to the onlookers.

_Be my next victim._

The demons refuse to move though. They maintain a safe distance, and staring resolutely between Prier and the fallen monstrosity. They will not even attack Culotte, as he squeezes his way through the crowd, panting as he runs up to Prier.

“There are so many of them,” he says, awed. “Where did they all come from?”

Prier glances at him, out of the corner of her eye.

Culotte is biting his lip, fearfully.

_What’s there to be fearful of?_

She returns to scanning the crowd.

“C’mon! Who’s next?!” she rages.

“Prier!” Culotte shouts, scandalised. “Don’t!”

One demon walks forward. With curling horns and a goatlike face. He makes no move to attack.

“Oh, nameless human child…” His eyes pierce through the darkness to meet Prier’s. “You have defeated the twenty Demon Lords who rule the Dark World.”

“W-what?” Culotte sputters.

Prier frowns.

“You are now a Lord among Lords! Respected and feared by all!”

The demons bow, not in unison, but in an uneven ripple effect. Some bow low, and others bow shortly, and others protest and are silenced by the attacks of the surrounding mob.

“Follow us!” the demons cry. “Return to the Netherworld! Destroy! Rule!”

“Is this a joke?” Prier says sharply.

The goat demon rises. He shakes his head.

“No, Mistress.”

“Follow us!” the demons chant. _Save us!_

What’s there to stay for?

_Save us!_

Father Salade hasn’t seen fit to expel her from the Church yet. But it’s only a matter of time…

_Save us!_

And besides-

_Save us!_

“Fine,” Prier says. She extends one arm sharply. “Lead me to my kingdom!”

“Whaaaa-?!” Culotte protests, though he’s drowned out by the cheers of the surrounding crowd.

The demons rush forward, to direct Prier away, down further into the darkness.

“Prier!” Culotte says. Prier is marching forward, and it takes Culotte several attempts, swiping at her arm, before he grabs her to pull her back.

“You can’t go with them, Prier!” he insists. “You can’t give into the darkness like this! What about the Church? …and Eclair?”

Prier jerks her arm out of his grip and turns away.

The demons laugh and press forward.

Culotte isn’t deterred.

“What about Croix and- and Sister Olive and everybody else?!” he asks. “ _What about_ _me_??!!”

Prier shakes her head.

“Fine! Then what about Alouette?!” he screams, above the joyous hymns of the demons. “What about _Alouette_??!!”

That, unlike anything else Culotte has said, gets to her.

Prier turns, glaring, to meet him.

“What about her??!!” she bellows.

Culotte flinches, but his face sets, resolute.

“You won’t be able to see her ever again!!” he says. “If you take that path, _you won’t be able to meet her in heaven_!!”

Prier grits her teeth. “What are you talking about?!” she seethes.

Culotte frowns. He looks right through her.

“You can’t hide it from me, Prier,” he says. “I know the Holy Book says it’s a sin, but- but I know from experience: loving _her_ , in whatever form, even if you’re also a woman, can only be the purest act of the Goddess-”

Prier lurches forward to silence him. She only registers the slightest bit of surprise flash over Culotte’s face, before her punch knocks him out cold.

“Shit!” she curses, as Culotte collapses in her arms.

The demons have become silent.

“Mistress, are you coming?!” they call, all around her. “Hurry, Mistress! To your crown! To the rite of demonhood!”

“Just a minute!” Prier snaps, and the demons shrink away, fearing her wrath.

Culotte feels so heavy in her arms. His unconscious face provokes the protectiveness Prier had always felt for him, after their parents died.

She wonders, briefly, if he’ll be okay.

She clasps her hands, praying one last time, to summon some of her oldest comrades – the monsters she converted and trained and loved.

 _Bear Mother_ , and _Sorta Bat_ , and _Box Lunch._

They crowd around Prier and Culotte, and Prier hoists Culotte onto Bear Mother’s back.

“Take him back to the church for me,” she commands. “And farewell!”

Their hesitant and regretful faces don’t seem entirely sincere.

 _It’s no wonder,_ she thinks. _Culotte was always the one who fed them and played with them._

_I was the one who made them break bricks and practiced wrestling moves on them._

“Get going!” she commands, shooing them away.

The surrounding demons eye her brother and the monsters hungrily, but they part to let the party through when Prier glares at them.

Alouette turns to her with a miserable expression.

“Culotte is right, you know?” Alouette says. “We _won’t_ be able to meet in heaven. And additionally, in taking this course, our paths must diverge. I cannot follow you, Prier into the darkness.”

Alouette floats forward. Her white wings spread through the demon crowd, and she brushes her hand tenderly over Prier’s cheek.

“I won’t be able to see you anymore, Prier,” Alouette’s voice cracks.

The fire and darkness swirl around her.

“Why do you think I’m _going_??!!” Prier screams. “Do you think I enjoy this – being haunted by you everywhere I go??!! Having everything I want but can never have constantly _shoved_ in my face??!!

“I’M DOING THIS TO GET _RID_ OF YOU!!!”

She slaps Alouette’s hands away and Alouette disappears into the pulsing darkness of the void.

“Leave me alone!” Prier shouts.

But then the darkness recedes, and Alouette is nowhere to be found.

The demons watch, as Prier grasps at the empty space in front of her. She curls her hands around the space where Alouette’s arms and legs and wings used to be. She traces her hand against the space where Alouette’s cheek curved.

“Alouette?” Prier asks. “Alouette?!”

“Did, did I imagine you?” she asks. “I-”

_I don’t know what’s real anymore._

Tears are gathering in her eyes, and the demons are closing in on her.

It occurs to her that she’s made a terrible mistake. She’s surrounded by demons, and sent away every ally she had at her disposal.

The demons slink forward, and Prier braces herself for attack.

The demons lift her up over their heads.

“All hail Overlord Prier!!” the demons cheer. “Destroyer of the Goddess herself!!”

It’s not the last time Prier sees Alouette though. So somebody had been lying, she’s just not sure who.

==

She doesn’t retreat completely to the Netherworld, as should be expected of a Demon Lord. She stays far too long, on the cusp of the human world.

The demons under her feast on the humans around them. For a while they move around, trying to spread out the casualties, but eventually Prier gives up and stays put. She sleeps long hours, and doesn’t pay attention.

Prier finds she likes the demons far more than she should. She likes how the Gargoyles swoop around through the air, and don’t make excuses for the things they do. And she especially likes the Succubi and the Felynn, how they leave their dens to do horrible things, but they never bring that negativity back to her. They come back and talk – about the weather, about current fashions, about love and life. They swap fanciful tales, and they’re all full of easy kindness and don’t waste time being jealous of one another.

It’s a kind of casual horribleness, and a casual niceness, that Prier wishes she could fully emulate.

 _Could we have been that to each other, Alouette?_ Prier asks. Even though she had wanted more than just pleasantries and conversation from Alouette.

(It’s too late anyhow. Even if she’s going from the time she started to realise what she wanted from Alouette, Alouette had already been long dead.)

Prier waits at the edge of the human world, in a remote cave, and listens to her subjects. She waits there a long time. She dreams of Alouette and waits, for everything and nothing. And then, over fifty years later, somebody comes.

...

“So you’re the one in charge,” a voice says. It sounds light and joking, but Prier knows it’s nothing but.

The Succubi and Felynn that had fallen asleep around her are missing from the nest. Prier awakens, blearily, looking around for them.

Perhaps they sensed the threat and took off to save themselves.

_Or perhaps this hunter drew them out and killed them._

A gun fires. And Prier stretches her wings and takes to the air, flying up to the rocky ceiling of her cavern. The bullets fly past her resting place, far from where she’s currently hovering.

“Ah, how boring~” Prier yawns. “You didn’t kill my lovely girls, did you?” she pouts.

It would be sad, but it’d be a lie to say Prier had the same relationship with death that she once did, when she lost her parents all those years ago.

“Heh~” the man laughs. He reloads and cocks his pistol. “Even if I wasn’t hired for this very job, after all the trouble you’ve been stirring up around here, you and your cronies deserve anything I manage to dish out. Now-”

He stretches his arm and aims his pistol, slowly, dramatically.

“Time to say goodbye!” he announces.

“Ah, so soon, Croix?” Prier asks. “How boring, once again! Goodbye so soon? After all this time?”

Croix freezes. His cigarette falls from his lips. He reaches up with one hand and pulls his sunglasses down his nose.

He looks exactly the same as he did over fifty years ago.

“Prier?!” he asks, stumped.

Prier, on the other hand, had aged half a decade before she had grasped immortality. But, then, those changes were probably superficial compared to her transformation into a Demon Lord.

The demon’s rite had commandeered her flesh, ripped it open to reveal dark wings, sharp claws, and curling horns.

Prier laughs and swoops forward. She dives at him, swiping at his face with long nails and hard fists.

It startles him enough that he shoots his gun.

Prier summersaults through the air, out of the bullet’s trajectory. They seem to fly almost in slow motion. More likely, she really _is_ just that fast.

She folds her wings and lands on her feet.

“Did you ever plan to return for me?” Prier asks, curiously.

She can see the gears turning in Croix’s mind, as he jumps back and reloads. He hesitates for just a moment, and Prier summons her magic into her hands and hurls it at him.

“C’mon answer,” she prompts. “And keep going!”

“Maybe at first,” Croix says. He jumps to the side, out of the way of her attack. It blasts away part of the cave wall behind him. “No, I don’t think so,” Croix admits. “I didn’t want to return. I felt too ashamed.”

He raises his guns and fires off a cacophony of bullets.

Prier doesn’t even bother to fly. She jumps around the gunfire easily, flexing her calves and overextending her legs as she leaps off the ground. 

“What about my shame, then?” Prier asks. “I bet you didn’t care,” she accuses. “I bet you didn’t even think about it.”

Croix reloads again.

“I thought you’d find someone else.”

“I did,” Prier says.

Croix fires.

“Not like I thought you would,” he says glumly. “I went by Pot au Feu, about ten years ago. thinking you’d be a seventy-year-old lady.” He snorts. “I heard you had disappeared years before. Your brother was a respected member of the community – a priest with a wife and a dozen children and grandchildren. They told me he says a prayer for you every morning and every night.”

Croix pauses briefly. He lowers his weapon.

“I hoped it would be like that for you,” he says.

“Why? So you could be the woman scorned, instead of me?” Prier clicks her tongue. “Victim complex.”

Croix scrambles to find his words, but Prier is already bored. She interrupts, before he can respond.

“Fight me. Fight me, or I’ll kill you.”

Croix hesitates again, but Prier draws her magic into her hands threateningly, and that prompts him to reload his guns once more.

Prier lets the magic go, and lifts herself up onto the balls of her feet.

Croix fires.

Prier dances. She weaves between the bullets, and dances.

She thinks about how Alouette dances in her dreams. How she twirls and jumps gaily from side to side, like a child leaping through a meadow. Alouette would stretch her angel wings, and jump lightly, to a tune all her own.

It’s not the seductive, shimmying dance of the Succubi. It’s not the formal waltz of the Maiden. It’s Alouette, being both the child, and the woman, she never had the chance to be.

Prier stretches her bat wings and pretends to be that person.

Croix reloads, and fires, and reloads. She wonders if Croix is holding back, shooting where he’s sure not to hit her. He’s shooting the bullets in timed rounds, easy to predict patterns, so they won’t surprise her. But, then again, it’s been so long since she met a fighter worth her time. Perhaps she’s just so skilled she can’t recognise a serious assault anymore.

Prier dances. She lifts up her hands, and holds her palms even with her shoulders as she leaps side to side.

Alouette grasps her hands from behind, and Prier imagines it’s dance class, like the ones Alouette taught as part of their etiquette curriculum.

 _Two steps to the left, and one to the right, then turn… six, seven, eight…_ Alouette had said, taking her hands and directing her from behind. The mechanical sound of the words had belied her grace.

Prier imagines. Even as a child, she must have had her demon horns. She had closed her eyes and wished for Alouette’s maidenly grace and, as she turned her face into Alouette’s bosom, the horns must have pierced her chest. She must have left a piece of her heart there.

Which was why she couldn’t let go.

“I love you,” Prier whispers, dragging Alouette with her, out of the trajectory of the bullets. It’s quiet enough that Croix can’t hear her.

Alouette lets go of her hands and embraces her from behind. She leans down to kiss the top of Prier’s head.

“I just want you to be happy,” Alouette says, holding her.

“Liar, you just want me to smile,” Prier whispers, as she leaps sideways. But she can’t stop the grin that breaks out on her face as she leans back into Alouette.

“You always look prettiest when you smile,” Alouette laughs. Her voice is as clear as bells.

There’s a sombre moment, even as they dance.

“Prier,” Alouette begins, “if… if you think I have wronged you in some way… my deepest apologies. I gave my life in the way I thought was best but… perhaps I was wrong.”

“No good,” Prier frowns. “That’s not the self-righteous old witch I know.”

“Prier…”

“Too late,” Prier whispers. “But I still love you.” She smiles.

“Be happy,” Alouette prompts. “Don’t wait around for me, or for anybody.”

Prier takes one last leap. The bullets have stopped. Since when? Prier doesn’t know.

Prier bows to Alouette, as she fades away again, and then turns to Croix and smiles.

Croix cocks an eyebrow at her.

Prier wonders if he thought the dance was for him, but decides it doesn’t matter. She arches her wings and floats over to him, sliding easily into his personal space.

“Are you out of bullets?” Prier asks.

“Nah,” Croix says. His face grows red, as Prier presses her body up against him. “There’s still another cartridge in the pocket of my boot… and I can still channel magic through the guns, even without ammo.”

Prier slinks down and pulls the cartridge out of his boot. She crushes it completely in her fist.

“Well, that’s that then,” she smiles. “Did you really think you could take me out with that pea shooter?” she asks.

Croix shrugs. One of his guns is still planted in his right hand. “I hoped so when I first took the job,” he says. “But that’s a hope that’s long since died.”

Prier hums. “Well, I guess you can be my vassal, at least until I get bored of you,” she decides smoothly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to default on your current job, though… Or I’ll have to kill you!” she hisses.

She reaches forward and grasps the front of Croix’s jacket, wringing the lapels in her palms.

“Got it?!” She glares.

To his small credit, Croix immediately lets go of the gun, so it clatters loudly as it hits the cavern floor.

.

.


End file.
